


Is it so Wrong?

by hpdm4ever, MessiFangirl (hpdm4ever)



Series: Leo + Luis (After Neymar) [4]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Champions League, Contracts, Copa del Rey, Coping, Depression, Difficult Decisions, FC Barcelona, Grief/Mourning, La Liga, M/M, Suaressi, Transfer Window
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:41:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26271310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpdm4ever/pseuds/hpdm4ever, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpdm4ever/pseuds/MessiFangirl
Summary: Leo barely speaks after the 8-2.Sometimes he says 'Yes,' sometimes he says 'No,' and sometimes he says 'Okay.' One morning he said all three.It was the highlight of Luis' day.
Relationships: Lionel Messi/Luis Suárez
Series: Leo + Luis (After Neymar) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/806331
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40





	Is it so Wrong?

**Author's Note:**

> **Edit: I decided this fit my Leo/Luis series and have added it there--in anticipation of continuing to write about the two of them--although it is not necessary to read the other stories there before this one**
> 
> isn't the football world a mess
> 
> Did we need 5k of Leo being depressed? Well, I wrote it anyway

Leo barely speaks after the 8-2.

Sometimes he says 'Yes,' sometimes he says 'No,' and sometimes he says 'Okay.' One morning he said all three.

It was the highlight of Luis' day.

Because Leo is a shell of who he once was. A shadow. An echo. Entirely drained of life. He is most definitely not the same person that Luis fell in love with. It's Leo's body, but it's not Leo. Not *his* Leo. This person doesn't have conversations anymore. Doesn't respond more than the minimal, if he responds at all. There are no more hugs. No more smiles. No more caresses. 

Luis expected something like this, expected Leo to be angry and upset. Much like Luis is. But he didn't expect Leo to shut him out entirely.

Leo's phone stays on the little table next to the bed. It sits next to the clock and Leo's favorite watch and the picture of the two of them from their vacation in Ibiza last summer. Leo doesn't use it. Doesn't touch it. It's plugged in, charged to 100 percent, and turned on. Luis knows because he made sure, early on, in case Leo wanted it. The sound is switched off because eventually, Luis couldn't take the little chimes any longer. 

It lights up repeatedly throughout all the days that follow. 

Over and over.

At first, Luis had looked to see who was calling, whoever was messaging, and politely passed that information on to Leo in case he wanted to answer. But Leo gave no sign of hearing him when this happened and Luis finally gave up. He lets the messages keep coming. Assumes the voicemail will get full at some point. He doesn't know if there's a limit for other kinds of messages, but if so they are probably rapidly approaching it. 

Leo doesn't do much of anything. He doesn't take care of himself at all, or at least not nearly as much as he once did. Leo had never really cared about his appearance, had worn whatever he felt like regardless of whether it was fashionable. He chose things for the colors or because someone gave it to him, wearing things to death until they got holes and Luis had to throw them out. He'd style his hair only when pressed, preferring to sleep instead if he had the time, and shaved when Luis started teasing him about being a lumberjack. 

Now, though... Leo forgets to change out of his clothes. Forgets or just doesn't care. He wears the same t-shirt and sweatpants for three days straight. Luis thinks maybe they're turning a corner when Leo opens a drawer in his dresser one afternoon and pulls out a shirt. Except, then he changes just his shirt and forgets to change the rest. The dirty shirt falls to the floor and stays there. He doesn't shower, doesn't brush his teeth or wash his face. He lets his beard grow out of control until it's something resembling Ramos'. 

He never goes outside.

Luis stops allowing this sort of thing almost a week in. He's no stranger to depression and would recognize the signs even if he didn't know the source. But this is at least something he can help with.

He starts laying out Leo's clothes on the bed in the morning--socks and underwear and all--picking out only the most comfortable of things that are absolutely free of team logos or anything having to do with football. He makes sure the water in the shower is a tolerable temperature before pushing Leo into the bathroom every morning, not trusting Leo to check the water himself. He passes over a washcloth and soap. He puts Leo's dirty clothes into the laundry basket and empties it when it's full. He makes sure Leo uses the toothbrush, even if it means he has to put the toothpaste on himself. And then he very carefully begins to trim Leo's beard every other day with a pair of nail scissors he found in the medicine cabinet.

Maybe it's not as good as if a professional had done it, but... It's not like Leo's going to complain if Luis messes it up.

If Luis doesn't physically guide Leo through a routine, Leo just sits and stares. He stays in bed. Or down on the couch. He doesn't watch television or listen to music if it's on. Doesn't play video games if Luis offers, or drink mate if Luis sets it in front of him. Doesn't snack. Doesn't go on social media or check his email on the laptop. The sun rises and sets around him and he never moves to turn the lights on. He'd continue sitting in the darkness if Luis didn't do it for him.

Luis stays with him. With this creature who isn't really his Leo. Sits with him. Doesn't pretend like everything is normal or okay, but he talks even if Leo never answers. He's always rambled, always been a chatterbox, and now is no exception--even if it's harder than it's ever been. 

Harder to fill the silence. 

Because he's hurt too. Angry. Suffering. Near the end of his rope with no idea what to do. He sees the way the press is killing him, feels the humiliation of the 8-2 nearly every second of every day. He doesn't turn off his comments on Instagram because he's some sort of masochist and he feels like he owes it to the fans to read what they write. The hostility is indescribable, and sometimes at night, he wakes up in a cold sweat, feeling suffocated.

He doesn't know what's going to happen next season. How Barcelona can recover... If they'll recover. If they'll make the signings they need to make. Sell those who need to be sold. There are rumors Koeman's going to clean house and people are calling for Luis' head. But that's ridiculous because his contract expires in 2021. Same as Leo. And he's not leaving Leo, of course. And why should he? He might not have scored as many as Leo's 25 goals, but he still scored 21 this season and would have scored more were it not for his knee surgery. In any case, he's given up on trying to figure it all out. The only thing he can do is try to take care of Leo the best he can. 

He loves Leo, after all. 

Won't give up on him. 

Won't give up on what they have. 

Luis puts Netflix on, chooses comedies or action movies, talks to Leo all the way through them. Just as he would have before. Leo doesn't watch. Leo stares at the pictures on the wall, pictures of happier times where blue and red confetti rained from the skies over smiling faces and shining silver trophies. If he looks away, it's to turn his gaze listlessly to the awards on the shelves as if he doesn't understand why they're there. But he doesn't really see them. He looks through them.

Most of the time that's how he looks at Luis too.

Luis takes him outside into the yard just to get fresh air and feel the sunshine. Lets him listen to the birds and the breezes and feel the grass underneath his feet. Leo always tries to sit down on the deck stairs, but Luis holds his arm and walks him around slowly. It's like walking around someone who's 80 years old. Slow, tiny steps. It tires Leo, but Luis makes them do a few loops before he decides it's enough. Before, Leo would have enjoyed it and begged Luis to stay out longer. Now there's no change in his expression. 

One time it rains and Luis still takes them outside, hoping that the feeling of raindrops on Leo's skin will be some sort of magical cure. It changes nothing, however, except that Luis has to towel Leo off gently afterward to dry him, wrapping him in a blanket when he shivers. 

Luis hugs him then, even though Leo doesn't hug him back. He whispers things into the crook of Leo's neck--secret things, endearments, promises. 

Leo hasn't shown any sign of wanting, or needing affection. But Luis needs it. He needs it desperately right now.

Because he feels how fragile Leo is. Sees how Leo's so slow and lethargic, leaving food on his plate at every meal--the ones he manages to sit at the table for, at least--and if Luis didn't know any better he'd think Leo was sick. And still, Luis makes sure Leo's favorites are on the table. Even as the pasta and veggies and meat remain unfinished, that the dulce de leche is always there to the side, sandwiched between chocolates and strawberries with the hopes that it'll tempt Leo enough to have just a bite. 

Sometimes Leo will take a bite. And Luis holds his breath while Leo swallows it down. Most of it is put back into the fridge night after night. Or into the trash eventually. Luis fretfully adds high-calorie protein shakes to the meals as a last resort.

Leo's noticeably losing weight. (Luis is too, actually, but...)

Leo *is* sick.

Heartsick.

How much more can Leo take? Everyone had always wondered how much more Leo had to give... And now Luis knows. Leo has nothing left. He's given all he has, given his heart, used up all he had inside.

Luis tells himself that there's still space there for them. For their bond. But the truth is, he's not sure. And at any other time, that would rip Luis' heart into pieces... but he can't even think about it right now. Later, when things are better, maybe he'll be able to. Not now when Leo is like this: so broken.

Luis starts to wonder one morning as he strokes a hand through Leo's hair and tries to coax him to eat some toast, at what point does he get a doctor involved? How long does he wait, while Leo continues suffering? For that matter, who does he get? A club doctor? His personal doctor? Geri might know best... Or maybe Andrés... But the second Luis lets others know, that's the second it shows up in the papers that Leo's lost it.

The shadows under Leo's eyes grow and grow, turning to permanent black and blue bruises that Luis wishes he could smooth away with his thumb. But even if he did that, it wouldn't take the pain out of Leo's eyes. Leo doesn't have to speak for Luis to know it's there.

Sometimes, late at night, when they're in bed, Luis will leave his hand on Leo's chest. It's not sexual. There are no more kisses, nothing of that sort--not when Leo's so hidden inside himself, no matter how much Luis wishes he could take his solace in Leo. They sleep with space between them now, instead of wrapped around each other. But this, this Luis takes for himself. He lets himself feel Leo's heart beating to reassure himself that through all of this, Leo is still alive, still there with him. 

And one day he'll respond, he just knows it.

Any day now.

People call Luis for answers when Leo doesn't pick up the phone. Geri and Busi and Jordi. Cesc and Ney and Kun. Other teammates. Other friends. Leo's brothers and sister, his parents, his nephews... It should bother Luis that he's usually the afterthought during these calls, with all of the attention going to Leo, but Luis is used to it. He answers the phone even if he doesn't know what to say when they ask because he needs someone to talk to other than the silence.

Luis tries to explain to them all, say what he can, talk without choking up, and mentions that Leo is resting and that's why he hasn't been getting back to them. That Leo's just tired, just having a tough time. Some of them accept it. But none of them really understand why Leo's completely ignoring them, and Luis can't blame them because he doesn't understand himself. He's never known what it was like to be Leo and despite having suffered the same loss, he knows Leo's on a different wavelength.

Geri gets angry with him. With them. With Leo. With Luis. "Put the phone in his goddamn hand, Luis," he says, rage simmering beneath a faux peace after several days of radio silence. "Turn it on speaker if he won't hold it. He's the fucking captain and enough is enough. It's his responsibility to explain this!" And Luis forgives him, because he knows Geri's in a bad place too, bleeds blaugrana the way Leo does. There are worse things said then when Luis refuses him, about Luis, about Leo, about whose fault the 8-2 is... 

Luis doesn't feel bad about hanging up after that.

Ney calls every day to genuinely ask after Leo, and Luis keeps ahold of his temper and doesn't send any of the blame toward him. He thought he was over Ney leaving and how everything went down, but it turns out he isn't and accusations of betrayal swirl in the back of his throat before he swallows them down. He thinks Ney knows, but neither of them says anything and just continue to go through the motions every time Luis picks up. Until... Luis doesn't watch the rest of the games, doesn't dare put them on tv in case Leo sees, but he follows the results. 

And so he understands why Ney stops calling after the final.

Kun keeps trying. Asks to talk to Leo countless times, and he's so patient and kind that Luis tries his best to get Leo to talk to him in return. Kun tells Luis that he knows what this silence is like, went through it with Leo after the World Cup, after Copa América--not once, but twice. But he says it was never this bad, that Leo would still go through the motions, even if he was suffering inside. 

Luis hopes that if there's anyone Leo would talk to, it would be Kun. 

So he tries. 

Leo usually stares at the wall and ignores him. But today when Luis offers the phone, Leo turns his face away, looks down at the carpet as if it's the most interesting thing in the world. 

"Please, Leo," Luis says, voice cracking, just wanting so much for Leo to talk to somebody--anybody. "Just Kun, just for a moment. Not about anything important, just, please." But there's nothing. 

And then to Kun, "He--he won't," Luis says, trying to collect himself. "I'm sorry. I can't--" He doesn't know how much longer this can go on. He stifles a sob, so tired and miserable and wishing so much...

Kun forever earns Luis' friendship by pretending he doesn't hear. "Alright, Luis. No problem. I'll try again tomorrow. Ciao," Kun says, ending the call so that Luis can fall apart right there on the couch with only Leo there to see the meltdown. 

Because Luis can't take any more. 

He breaks.

The phone carelessly slips from his fingers, drops somewhere onto the floor near his bare feet. If it hits him, he doesn't feel it. There's too much grief and pain spilling out of him to feel something so minuscule as that. He cries and cries, for himself and the fans and for Leo and for Barcelona, big wracking sobs that steal his breath and crush his lungs. It's just been pent up for so long, pushed down deep inside time after time, and now everything's a mess and there's nothing left for Luis to do but let it out.

It's then, when Luis is hunched over, hands pressed to his face to try to stop his tears, that he feels it.

Leo's beside him. Not just beside him, but *beside* him. Side pressed to his, leg flush against leg, sharing what little body warmth he has. It's the first movement Leo's made toward him in so long that it feels alien. This is his partner, someone he loves more than life itself, and Luis has forgotten what his touch feels like. There are no words, and Luis is too busy hacking to find his own, but Leo's fingers settle on the back of his neck, clearly offering what he can even if it's the tiniest of gestures. 

"Luis?" Leo murmurs. 

It's everything to Luis.

*Everything*.

When Luis comes back to himself, Leo's arms are around him. "I wanted--," Luis whispers, shaking with exhaustion, "to be strong for you, Leo. But I can't, I'm sorry. I can't do it anymore. I'm so sorry for everything." He wants to say so much more, so much about everything, but he can't make himself do it.

And it turns out he doesn't have to. "I know," Leo says, voice scratchy from lack of use. "I know."

Leo doesn't say that things are going to be okay, but Luis wouldn't believe him even if he did. Still.

Leo half drags Luis until they're standing and somehow manages to get them upstairs to the bedroom, sitting him down on the side of the mattress. He disappears for a moment and comes back with a wet washcloth. Luis is barely aware of what's happening and when he looks up, he realizes that Leo's cleaning his face, softly scrubbing away tears in a complete reversal of roles. 

"I should--" Luis says, dazed, frowning, thinking about how he needs to try to feed Leo again, how he needs to throw the clothes into the wash, how Leo's mother had asked Luis to call back that evening with an update. But he goes to rise and can't seem to do so, raising confused eyes upward to find that Leo's hands are on his shoulders and pressing him down. 

"You should sit a minute," Leo says, clearing his throat when the words come out in a croak. "Just, a minute," he says, tossing the washcloth into the basket against the wall. He sits beside Luis on the bed and takes his hand, interlocking their fingers. "You look awful," he adds, squeezing lightly when Luis peers at him in near astonishment. "Like you're going to collapse any second."

"Thanks," Luis murmurs, entirely unprepared for what's happening. "So do you."

"Mmm," Leo says. He stares at the wall again, though this time he doesn't get lost in his head and sighs. "What a pair we are. Fucking hell. I'm sorry."

"For what?" Luis asks wearily. He squeezes Leo's hand himself, just to convince himself that this isn't some sort of dream. But no, Leo's hand is in his own, right where it belongs, fitting perfectly. He can feel the thinness of Leo's fingers, the touch-too-long fingernails, the pads of his fingertips dragging against the back of his palm.

"For everything," Leo breathes. He opens his mouth to say something and then closes it, clicking his teeth together in a way that must be painful. But he shows no sign of it. Instead, he takes their joined hands and raises it to his lips. "I'm sorry," he says, kissing the back of Luis' hand, "for it all."

Luis can feel tears gathering in his eyes again and he tries to speak around the lump in his throat. "Don't--don't do it again, Leo," he says, talking about what's happened since the game and not the actual game itself. He can't think about the game. Leo's face is blurring in front of him. Everything is catching up to him again and his bones ache. If Leo disappears again... "I can't--"

Leo kisses him as the tears spill over again. "I won't," Leo mumbles against his lips. "I'm so sorry, I won't," he says, kissing Luis again. 

And Luis is weak. He accepts it even if it's a lie. He doesn't know that it's a lie, but he knows Leo doesn't know what's in their future. Whatever it is, they'll deal with it together though, and this is the thought that sustains him as Leo shuffles them upward toward the pillows at the head of the bed. They curl together the way that they used to--limbs intertwined and nothing like the way Luis has spent the nights with his outstretched arm to feel Leo's heartbeat.

"I can't stay here," Leo says quietly when Luis has calmed down again. His fingers trail down Luis' bicep, tracing the swirls of the tattoo he could probably draw in his sleep. "I just can't," he says, sounding so frustrated and hurt--so completely raw.

"Okay," Luis says, trying to keep his eyes open. "Where do you want to go?" He thinks of the press and the paparazzi and how many favors he can cash in to get them out of here without people seeing. "The yacht? Or some beach somewhere? Whatever you want, Leo, whatever you need." There's time before preseason, at least a few days, and maybe more if he tells the club it's necessary. They can find somewhere to decompress.

Leo makes a sound in his throat that Luis has never heard before.

It makes Luis' heart stop.

"No," Leo says, and the grief in his voice is unbearable. "I can't stay here. I can't play here. Not anymore." He takes a shaky breath, hand tangling in Luis' t-shirt and clinging to it like a lifeline. "I want to leave. I want to play somewhere else. I'm finished." 

Even then, Luis doesn't understand. He shifts them, facing Leo entirely, careful not to dislodge the grip Leo has on his shirt. His fingers slide across Leo's cheekbone gently, and he moves a strand of hair off Leo's forehead to see him more clearly. "What do you mean?" Leo's lashes are wet and Luis catches a tear in the corner of his eye with his thumb.

"You know I have that clause," Leo whispers like he's afraid to say it out loud. Like it's sacrilegious, forbidden. And maybe it is because Luis freezes. "At the end of every season. My dad made me add it and I never thought I'd have to use it, but..."

"I know, but," Luis says, unable to think. Leo and Barcelona are so interchangeable in his head that he's never even considered Leo could or would leave. It's inconceivable. "You were negotiating a new contract," he says instead, feeling numb, half wondering if he's going into shock. "You were going to renew, everyone said you were going to renew. You said you were going to renew."

"I stopped," Leo admits, and another tear rolls down his cheek. "I stopped because things were going so poorly, and I decided to really think about it. Then we lost the Copa, lost la Liga. I decided to wait to tell the club until after the Champion's final." He bites his lip so hard that Luis thinks he's going to break the skin. "Things are not getting better here, Luis. No matter what they tell me, they're not getting better. They aren't getting who we need, aren't spending the right way. Things have been fucked since Ney left and everyone knows it."

"I know, but," Luis says again.

"8-2," Leo breathes, and here is the anger that Luis has been waiting for. "I thought it might be bad, but I never imagined that! We're a laughingstock and it's not the first time, is it? Roma, Liverpool, Bayern. We don't fucking learn. We don't change. We're getting worse and worse and this season we go fucking trophy-less!"

"This season was an anomaly," Luis manages to say, still trying to think straight. "The starts and the stops and the empty stands... Next season will be better, Leo. Stick it out one more season, with me. We can do it, I know we can. Ansu and Riqui are going to help us so much. And Ousmane! Can you imagine him finally fit?"

"Maybe," Leo says, closing his eyes, letting the anger drain out of his body with a deep breath. "But we'll all be on edge the whole time. Like now, when nobody's sure who's staying and who's going to be kicked out the door without a second thought. People who've given their blood and sweat and tears... Nobody sees it. I kept trying to talk to Barto these last few months and he dodged all of my calls." 

Leo opens his eyes again, eyes shining with tears now. "Dani told me it would happen and he was right. The club's working against us now. You know they are. They fucking hired a company to post shit about us. They don't listen to anything I say and then still feed the fire that I'm somehow running the show. They'll throw any of us under the bus to save their own skin, or to balance their books. Fucking Barto doesn't give a flying fuck and he's shown it time and time again," he says with disgust.

Luis knows Leo's right.

"Is it so wrong? That I want to go somewhere I'm wanted? Somewhere that they play my kind of football?" Leo's voice cracks. "I'm not happy here, Luis. I'm not happy. And I always said I would stop if I wasn't happy, but the truth is I think I could be happy somewhere else! This isn't what I thought would happen. I never thought this would happen."

Luis' heart is breaking again, this time for everything Leo's kept hidden. "Why didn't you tell me?" It's not an accusation, for all that it comes out that way. "Why didn't you talk to me about this?" He wonders if Leo didn't trust him and the very idea makes his stomach churn. "Did you tell anyone at all?"

But that's not it. 

Leo's eyes brim and he blinks as they begin to cascade over. "No. Geri suspected I think, but we never spoke about it. I only wanted to tell you," Leo says shakily, half beginning to sob. "I wanted to so much... But I couldn't risk it."

"What couldn't you risk, sweetheart?" Luis asks, wiping away what tears he can, pulling Leo against his chest and nuzzling his crown. He hates that it's come to this, that both of them are sitting here in the dark in such utter misery. More than anything, he wants to end Leo's pain. "Leo," he soothes, holding that slender body tight and dropping a kiss right on top of his head.

"You asking me to stay," Leo chokes out.

Luis doesn't say anything for a moment. Just breathes Leo in and out, smells the soap he'd used to wash this morning, knows it wasn't both shampoo or conditioner but hadn't pushed Leo to use anything more. He focuses on that instead of Leo's words because he doesn't want to admit to himself that Leo was right. Of course, he would ask Leo to stay, try to convince Leo not to leave Barcelona--to stay here, to stay with Luis.

It would have been selfish of him. But he would have done it. And it would have been wrong of him.

"This is your home," Luis says instead. "It would be... so different to go somewhere else. A new country. A different language. Different colors. Different faces every day during training." He swallows. "I've done it, Leo. I've moved around and it isn't easy at all. Everyone waits for you to fail, and the amount of hate you get--" He shakes his head, clutching Leo closer. "New fans, new opportunities, yes, but... It's so hard. If this is what you want to do, you need to be prepared."

"I can't win," Leo confesses. "If I leave, they'll say I'm running away. It'll open myself up to all sorts of new criticism, how I wasn't a one-club man after all, how I'm abandoning Barça when they need me most... And of course, that fucking guts me because I loved it here once! But if I stay," he sniffles, "I'll go down with the ship." He sounds so, so tired. So hurt. So empty. "I just want to feel good about playing again."

Luis understands now. He feels like an idiot, thinking Leo had fallen to pieces over the 8-2. But that wasn't it at all, was it? It was the decision to leave Barcelona that had done it, that had pushed him over the edge and sent him into such deep depression that he could barely function. Luis can feel Leo's hands clenched into the fabric of his shirt still, holding on for dear life.

He realizes Leo needs something new to hold on to, now that he can't hold on to Barcelona.

And then Luis' phone rings, somewhere between them. 

Luis is confused, faintly remembering it falling downstairs when he'd had his meltdown, but Leo pulls back from their embrace to reveal it from his pocket. He'd grabbed it when he'd brought Luis upstairs, for whatever reason, and now he reads the caller ID and purses his lips before handing it to Luis. "I don't want to talk to him," Leo says, and his tone says he means it.

Koeman.

Luis lets out a whoosh of air and answers, preparing himself for a lot of questions about Leo. The call is short instead. Koeman doesn't want to talk to Leo, as it turns out, nor does he want to talk *about* Leo. Koeman talks about Luis. About how Luis isn't part of his plans. How surely Luis has read in the press that Barcelona is finished with him and ready to sell him to the highest bidder. "Good luck with your new club," Koeman says, sounding bored at the end before clicking off.

Luis holds the phone in his hand, dumbfounded. Rage flows through his veins. That type of extreme anger that he's never really felt before. Koeman's casual dismissive tone is something he never expected directed at him and even now, the words 'new club' echo wildly through his mind. He can see that Leo's heard every word from beside him, sees the growing anger in Leo's eyes at the way he's been treated. "You know what, Leo," Luis says, breathing in and out for a few seconds until he can speak again. 

Something cracks inside of him. Some sort of acceptance as he realizes an era has come to an end. And then he starts feeling a kind of peace moving through his body and replacing his anger. 

Luis turns off the sound on his phone and tosses it off the bed. There's no one else he needs to hear from now except the person in this room with him. He takes Leo in his arms again, lets their hearts beat in sync. And then he says, "Maybe you're right. Maybe it's time for a change after all."

**Author's Note:**

> end of an era? we'll see


End file.
